


At Peace

by therickykitty



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, These gay nerds will be the death of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therickykitty/pseuds/therickykitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Desya Lavellan find some time alone from the duties of Skyhold. And Cullen's reports.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a gift to me by the wonderful commander-shakarian from tumblr. Please visit them sometime, they're an incredible author!

His mind wandered. Desya Lavellan couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat at the war table during a normal hour. Every crisis that had popped up in the last few months seemed to happen at the worst time of night. The first rays of the morning sun were peeking through the mountains, lighting the inside of the expansive room he stood in with his three advisors. The candles were low in their holders, the hot wax nearing overflowing. 

Cullen paced by one of the candles, the movement making the flame flicker before finally extinguishing. Blowing a stray curl of white hair from his face, Desya placed his hands on the worn wooden table, barely keeping himself propped up. Exhaustion was setting in and he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

“I hadn’t expected Samson, that’s for sure. Is there anyway we can find out how many templars he recruited to Corypheus’ cause?” Cullen asked no one in particular. The hour was making everyone a bit drowsy and understandably so.

“My spies don’t have that sort of reach, commander.” Leliana replied, rubbing the spot between her eyes. “Even if I could find someone who was able to infiltrate the red templars, the risk is too great.”

“I wish the Inquisitor would have gone to Therinfall like I’d instructed. We might have saved some of my former brothers and sisters.” Cullen continued as if he hadn’t heard Leliana speak at all. “As it is, the mages might not have enough power to help defeat Corypheus. They are susceptible to corruption, and red lyrium could very well be used against them-”

“That’s all speculation.” Josephine interrupted, her brow furrowing. She clearly did not agree with Cullen. “Would you rather the Inquisition fight the Venatori? In my opinion, fighting templars is better than possibly creating another war.”

Desya prayed to Mythal, the Great Protector, that Cullen decided to finish his rant later so that he could seek out a comfortable place to rest, preferably with Dorian by his side. The thought of Dorian Pavus, the Altus mage from Tevinter, made his eyes ache a little less. His lip lifted at the corner. The Iron Bull and Sera had mentioned an abandoned shack a short walk north of Skyhold. The healers were thinking of using it to store herbs and salves, but at the moment, it was unoccupied. Perhaps it would be an adventure after this long, dreary night.

“I believe-”

“Commander?” Desya interrupted, blush coloring his cheeks at the rudeness. “Maybe we could take a break?”

Leliana and Josephine both looked relieved at Desya’s words, the ambassador going as far as sighing contently. 

Cullen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “O-Of course, Inquisitor. Shall we return this evening?”

“That sounds perfect.” Desya responded, rubbing his small hands over his face. Leliana grinned at his response before locking arms with Josephine and leaving the room. Cullen didn’t seem pleased, but he held his tongue. “I’ll see you all this evening.”

Desya hurried from the war room, quietly hoping that Cullen wouldn’t pull him back in for something. As he walked into Josephine’s office, he noticed the diplomat and the spymaster speaking to one another. Both women glanced up at his entrance.

“Run.” Leliana said with a laugh. “Don’t let Cullen catch you.”

Desya grimaced before following her suggestion. The former bard had a point. He needed to put as much distance between the commander and himself. Otherwise he’d never get a rest.

The main hall of Skyhold was quiet this early in the morning. The fires crackled in their grates, the flames throwing light across the shadowed room. Desya’s footsteps were muted against the Orlesian rugs as he walked the length of the hall. Varric wasn’t at his usual place on the far side of the room, and it felt strange not to see the dwarf’s friendly face greet him.

The library was located up a winding staircase, below the rookery and above Solas’ study. The study itself was empty, the elven apostate having gone to sleep in his meager quarters. For one who knew so much about the Dalish, Solas didn’t seem to have much love for his people. For Desya’s people. It bothered Desya more than he would admit. He was a proud member of the Lavellan clan, the First to the clan’s Keeper, and one of the most powerful mages to have been born of the Dalish. To have another elf, another mage, dislike Dalish culture so much was troubling.

The crows in the rookery cawed loudly, breaking the quiet of the library. Desya frowned at the noise. How anyone could get anything done with those birds around was beyond his understanding. And Dorian spent most of his days there studying history or researching new ways to help the Inquisition defeat Corypheus. His concentration must have been astounding.

“Looking for me, I’d wager.”

Desya couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Turning towards the voice, his emerald eyes were greeted by the dusky skin and curling black mustache of the former heir of House Pavus. 

Dorian’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned at the Inquisitor. “Well, are you?”

Desya tilted his head slightly as he met Dorian’s gaze. “Am I what?”

“Looking for me.” Dorian repeated, resting the book he’d been reading on his lap before clasping his fingers together over top of it. “It’s entirely too early for you to be here researching, and as you know, I haunt this place quite often.”

Desya rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to ask Dorian to spend some time outside of the library. “Did you sleep at all?”

Dorian laughed, the smile on his face sending Desya’s heart fluttering in his chest. There were many things about Dorian Pavus that the Inquisitor enjoyed, but his laugh was one of the most enchanting things the elf had ever heard. “Is that your way of inviting me up to your quarters?”

Desya’s face burned, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t… no! I wasn’t… Dirthara-ma, Dorian. You are impossible.”

The Tevinter mage laughed again. “You can’t tell me that you don’t enjoy my teasing.”

“It’s not that. I wanted to-” Desya cursed his inability to be confident in front of this handsome man. He’d never have this problem with any of the men in his clan, but here, in this library with a man who was confident enough for the both of them, Desya Lavellan was beyond tongue-tied.

Dorian stood from the large, soft chair he usually sat in and placed the volume he’d been reading on the seat he had vacated. Desya closed his eyes, mortified at his inaction. What was it about this human that set him so on edge? Why was he acting foolish, as if he were still a child trying to impress his Keeper?

A light tug on his braid broke his internal scolding. He opened his eyes to find them staring into Dorian’s. 

“What is wrong? You acting serious and that worries me.” A small frown turned down Dorian’s lips and Desya disliked being the reason for that.

He grasped Dorian’s hand in his, ignoring the furious beating of his heart. “I wanted to spend some time with you away from Skyhold, that is all.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued.”

Desya chuckled nervously. “It might be nothing, but there is this old abandoned house not far from here, and I- I hoped we could go explore it. Together.”

Dorian lifted his free hand and ran it over Desya’s braid. “If it means I am with you, Amatus, then lead the way.”

Desya wasn’t expecting a direct path to the old house, that would have been too easy, but the snow that he and Dorian trudged through was deep and soaked his leather boots. They were dressed in thick hide pants, bundled up in as many furs as the two of them could carry on their shoulders, but the two mages still shivered.

“This better be worth it.” Dorian said, teeth chattering, his hot breath turning to mist as it met the cold air. “I did not intend to freeze my poor toes off.”

Desya shivered violently, his small elven frame not used to the harsh mountain climate. Glancing over his shoulder at the man following him, he replied, “I’m sorry to bring you all the way out here, Dorian. We can go back to Sky-”

“A moment, Inquisitor.” Dorian said, his eyes not looking at Desya, but instead, at a spot farther away. “I think we may have found your cabin in the snow.”

The elf followed Dorian’s gaze and learned that they had, indeed, found the abandoned shack that Sera and the Iron Bull had mentioned. With renewed energy, Desya hurried as well as he could towards the building. 

It had once been a someone’s home. An old rickety door hung loose at the hinges. Snow and ice were the only things keeping it from falling to the ground. The glass that had once covered the windows was long shattered, nowhere to be found. The wood that the structure was made of was discolored with age. The roof was no longer able to keep the elements out, multiple holes making it easy for snow to get inside. To Desya, it was beautiful.

Curious, Desya pulled off his glove and reached out towards the broken door. His fingers lightly trailed over the wood, splinters breaking off and falling to the untouched snow. It was rough under his touch. He found bumps in the wood, warped from the ice and sun. A smile spread across his lips as he imagined the life that had once occupied there. An elderly man who worked for those in Skyhold a long time ago? Perhaps a groundskeeper? Did a family live here once? Maybe a hunter who used the lodging as an escape?

A curse sounded from behind him and Desya, concerned, turned to find Dorian had slipped on a patch of ice, his bottom having connected with the snowy ground. The mage was attempting to stand once more while brushing snow from his clothing, with no success.

“What happened?” Lavellan asked, making his way slowly towards the fallen man.

“What happened? What do you think happened?” Dorian pouted. “I am a man not made for the cold and this disgusting white shit. Why did I trust this was a good idea?”

Desya knelt beside Dorian, unable to keep his smile from widening at Dorian’s flustered countenance. “Because we’re here together, remember?”

“Ah, yes.” Dorian said, sarcastically. He allowed Desya to help him stand as he continued his ranting. “Because the warm interior of the Skyhold library wasn’t good enough.”

“We’re alone.” Desya stated, dusting the snow from Dorian’s back. “And I’m not in any way available for the war room. It’s like being somewhere else. Being someone else.” The elf sighed quietly and turned his eyes towards the shadow of Skyhold. “If only for a little while.”

Dorian fell silent, but Desya hardly took notice. He was lost in his thoughts, thinking about how all of the responsibilities of an entire movement rested upon his shoulders. He had closed the breach, the mark on his hand had stopped growing, but he was now the leader of the Inquisition. People looked to him for guidance, as if he knew what he was doing.

Desya approached the shack again, needing the distraction that lay within. With a little magic, he broke the hinges and pulled the door from the snow. Dorian was silent as his lover entered the dilapidated home. Inside, there was a cot made of straw, somehow not covered in ice and snow. An old fire pit was still in decent condition. Retrieving a handful of straw, Desya began to start a fire. Dorian sat upon what was left of the cot and watched.

When the fire was in full blaze, Desya joined Dorian on the cot, the two of them enjoying the warmth. They were silent for a few moments, neither knowing what to say as they sat there.

“I can’t imagine the pressure.” Dorian said, quietly. It felt too quiet to him, without the crows making a ruckus above him. “To have Thedas’ survival on your shoulders. I understand why you want to hide out here.” He paused before adding, “Even if it is freezing my man bits.”

Desya snorted, a laugh coming from his lips. “Only you could make that sound proper, Dorian.”

Flashing a carefree grin at the elf, Dorian couldn’t help his next words. “I could make it sound improper as well, if you’d like.”

Desya turned his green eyes from the fire to the man beside him. His gaze trailed from Dorian’s remarkable eyes to his strong nose, all the way to his kissable lips. He lingered there for a moment, admiring the soft curve of the upper lip and the way it tilted upwards as Dorian smirked. Licking his own lips, Desya thought about their brief kisses. They had been sweet and soft, everything the Inquisitor had wanted. 

But at that moment, all Desya Lavellan wanted was to feel Dorian’s writhing body, slick with sweat, atop him. He wasn’t normally the dominant type, but he was tired of waiting. His lips found Dorian’s, the man’s mustache tickling slightly as they kissed. It was hungry. It was nearly primal. This was something that Desya had wanted since first laying eyes on the altus and he’d be damned if he didn’t get it.

Dorian’s hands slipped under the pile of furs resting on Desya’s shoulders, his fingers kneading the elf’s chest lightly. It was hesitant, as if Dorian wasn’t sure how to proceed. Desya tore the furs away, leaving his tanned chest exposed. Dorian stared at him for a moment, as if the entire scene was a dream. As if he couldn’t believe that they were sitting there, so close to- that- for the first time. 

“Are you alright, Dorian?” Desya asked, not wanting to continue if the man was uncomfortable.

Dorian looked at him tenderly, with a smile that he’d never seen before. A smile that Desya would never forget. “I’m more than ok, Amatus.”

“What does that mean? Amatus? You’ve called me it before, but never told me what it is.” Desya studied Dorian’s expression, trying to see if he would lose the happiness he so clearly displayed. 

“It means ‘beloved’ or ‘my love.’” His eyes darkened with lust as he spoke. “You are my beloved.”

Desya could feel his cheeks burning, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, but a grin broke out on his face. “That’s quite the title. Care to show me what it means to be your ‘Amatus’?”

Dorian’s laugh could light up the world. At least, it always lit up Desya’s. “Your desire is my command.”

Dorian trailed his lips along Desya’s neck, his breath puffing warm air along his chilled skin. The smoothness of his mouth was enough to set the Inquisitor’s nerves on fire. He felt himself grow hard with need, with a desire he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Dorian chuckled, his hand pressed against the growing bulge in the elf’s leather pants. “Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

Desya groaned, unable to form words. Dorian didn’t need further prompting. With one hand, he unlaced the trousers while the other brushed gently against the elf’s chest. Desya drew in a quick breath, the anticipation more arousing that the gesture itself. Dorian’s lips found his chest, then in quick succession, kissed down until he reached the spot above his pants. Before Desya’s mind caught up, his breeches were gone, flying across the room, freeing his erection from its hold.

He was about to sit up when Dorian’s mouth slid over the tip of his penis, the hot wetness causing his body to buck involuntarily. Dorian worked slowly, his tongue making quick work. Desya’s hands found the altus’ hair, what little there was of it, and his fingers slipped over the ebony locks. It was like silk.

He was so close. Dorian was skilled with his mouth, but Desya was more interested in what he could do from behind. He was going to suggest that try something different, something daring, when a loud cackle erupted, destroying the quiet of their intimacy. Confused, Desya glanced towards the door of the shack only to see a tuft of unevenly cut blonde hair disappear into the snow. 

“Fenedhis!” Desya shouted, his ass bouncing as he ran towards the opening of the shack, away from a surprised Dorian. “Sera, get your conniving little-”

“Ha ha! Got yer trousers! Whatcha goin’ do about it, eh?” Her voice mocked him from far away, clearly safe from the mage’s reach. “By the way- I can see yer stick and berries!”

Groaning, Desya ran his hands through his white hair, wishing for all the of world that he hadn’t fallen for her stupid prank. Of course it had been a set up. This was Sera. She knew he had been listening in on her conversation with the Iron Bull. She had been waiting for a moment like this. Walking away from the doorless entrance, where Sera could clearly see him, Desya hurried back to the cot where the furs waited. With a sigh, he collapsed beside Dorian, who was laying back against the straw stuffed mattress, his hands behind his head.

“Well, this is unfortunate.” Dorian stated, unable to hide his pleasure at the predicament. “However will we pass the time?”

“Dorian- I need to get back to Skyhold sometime in the next few hours. Cullen will be waiting-”

“Yes, the commander will be waiting to bore you.” Dorian finished for him. He sat up, resting on his elbow so that he could look Lavellan in the eye. “Let’s play a while longer. Unless- you don’t want me to finish what I started.”

Desya felt his earlier excitement return. “Yes, vhenan. I would like that. Very much.”  
   
His mouth met Dorian’s once again and all thought of trousers was forgotten.


End file.
